


Nothing is Beyond Hope

by ConvictorKaruma



Series: Bastarddome Drabbles (RP drabbles) [4]
Category: SCP Foundation
Genre: Coping with trauma, Gen, Overcoming Trauma, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 12:29:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15461385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvictorKaruma/pseuds/ConvictorKaruma
Summary: After finally getting out from under the leaden thumb of the Foundation, the former O5-12, "The Accountant", and the former O5-10, "Janus", are more or less strong armed into seeking therapy for the obvious psychological wounds inflicted upon them.More fics for the Bastarddome server? Yes. Am I sorry? Not really.





	1. There's No Right Way

**Author's Note:**

> While I didn't get too detailed in this, I will say that the therapists are based on actual therapists I have seen. The way I talk about both Janus/Vadoma and Accountant/Xavier reacting to their trauma is based on my own experiences, so this was largely cathartic for me.
> 
> Janus is mine. This interpretation of the Accountant is Earthy's. Dianna and Katja are South's. Gino is Ash's. Doctor Eve is Molly's.

“I don’t know, it’s just all so much, a lot of the time.” Dr. Eve sat across from Ten at a table in a small, rather unremarkable coffee shop, somewhere in Michigan. There’d been a lot of going back and forth within the safe house about if Ten should go, or not. Texts were exchanged, agreements made, arrangements, and in the end, the consensus was that Ten could visit with the researcher they’d gotten along with in the past, provided Xavier and one of the Diannas were present. The pair were respectful enough to sit out of earshot, but they were watching very intently. Ten may have trusted Eve, and all memories of her pointed to her being genuinely kind, but there were still risks. Besides that, Ten’s judgment was still suspect.

“Well, yes, Janus. A lot happened, and a lot of it was bad. It’s not unusual to feel overwhelmed,” there was some awkwardness hanging in the air. They both knew what had gone down, or, Ten was pretty sure Eve had some idea, they weren’t sure how much her wife divulged. They were certain she knew of the breach, and pretty sure she knew about the Sparks situation, at least somewhat. If nothing else, she knew Ten had resigned, which she would know was not something they would have done, if everything was fine. Neither of them wanted to address all of that.

Ten didn’t want to criticize the Foundation, either. Both because they still could not internalize that not everything was their own doing, and because it would be monumentally unwise to do so, here. That wasn’t what they’d hoped to get out of this meeting, anyway. “I haven’t spoken openly with anyone in a very long time, Eve,” they swallowed, looking around. Damn near a century of paranoia doesn’t fade easily, “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Janus,” Eve’s voice was gentle, friendly, a bit softer than Ten remembered it being, during other exchanges, but then again, this was a very different kind of interaction. Ten’s practiced apathy and neutral face had been abandoned, this she could tell, and she could tell Ten was anxious, “No one is here to judge you, or take you out for saying the wrong thing, first of all. And second, you don’t have to tell them everything right out of the gate. Most therapists will understand if you need time to open up.”

“I want to get it right, though.”

Eve sighed, had Ten really been hiding this sort of thing this whole time? That was certainly not healthy, “There is no right or wrong. Not with that.” There was something jarring about seeing Ten like that, vulnerable and afraid. Still, she wanted to help. Ten wasn’t always the nicest person, their actions weren’t always the most agreeable, but they deserved to heal, and she’d been friendly with them.

That didn’t make a lot of sense, to Ten. They were still so used to lists of regulations, rules, and requirements. To forms, and formalities, everything having a place, and an order. They weren’t going to argue, though. Eve knew more about this, she was probably right.

“You should start with whatever you feel is most pressing right _now_. Start with whatever’s at the forefront of your thoughts.”

They nodded. They could do that, they’d have to.


	2. All Answers Are Good Answers

First sessions with a new therapist are always daunting, and difficult. Doubly so when you’ve gone decades convincing yourself that all of your doubts, your worries were weaknesses, and could get you in trouble. Even realizing, with no small amount of difficulty, that they had likely misunderstood the instructions they were given, it was still a terrifying prospect, opening up to someone. And, while their conversation with Eve had given them some form of direction, they had no idea what they were doing, or what to expect.

Ten -- not Ten for much longer, they reminded themself, they’d promised Xavier, the former Twelve, that they would look at names this afternoon -- had to admit that they needed help, it wasn’t really deniable anymore. Without a role to play, without rules, and regulations, they found themself floundering. Even before this, they’d needed it, the entire Council knew it. They just had been eaten alive by their paranoia, and perfectionism, and tried to tell themself they were fine. That they would manage, as long as they had a mission. Maybe, had they conceded earlier in the argument, they’d still have their position. No point in worrying about that, now.

As they waited to be called back, they ran over everything they could think of in their head. How could they explain any of that in a safe way, though? A therapist, and a doctor who they would be meeting later, in Sparks’ circles would have some idea, certainly, more than the average professional, but even then, there were things that were classified. Things they wanted to keep classified, even if the vital information had already been wiped.

They found themself mulling over questions they simply did not have the answers to. They hoped she wouldn’t ask them. Maybe they’d figure out the answers on their own. Maybe this therapist could help with that. If they ever got to that point.

The therapist came out, long dark hair, and a kind face, and motioned for Ten to follow her. Ten complied, but still had no real idea what they would say, or do, once they got to her office. This wasn’t someone they’d spoken to ever before, like Glass was, and there were no undos on anything said. That scared them.

They were just meeting this person, whoever she was, and they couldn’t even admit to Xavier, who they’d known for decades, that their entire situation was their own doing, their own design, from the moment they’d said “yes, I accept,” the moment they said their call sign would be Janus. They had earned everything they got. Every punch, they either chose to take for someone else, or had earned. How could they talk to someone they barely knew about any of that?

Eve had been right, though, the therapist did guide the session. The woman sitting across from the former Overseer had initially tried open ended questions, hoping Ten would talk, but realized pretty quickly that Ten was much more comfortable with questions that had short, easy to pin down answers, and would answer with as little detail as possible when presented with one that didn’t. She’d try to get them to open up more, later, right now, figuring out what was going on was the priority. Anything Ten could answer concisely, came out easily, but there were notable times when Ten would pause, or answer noncommittally. These, she jotted down as areas to help them explore, when they felt ready.

She had been told not to use any names for her patient, by Sparks. At least until Ten gave a name, whether prompted or not. She was also told that she needed to get Ten talking, before asking. She’d asked a few hard questions, but had mostly settled on general knowledge, and offered to let Ten write it out on a questionnaire, instead, which they’d accepted. She didn’t wholly understand a lot of this, but she trusted her source to know what was best for Ten.

Once Ten handed back the sheet of paper, she asked, “I’ve been told you have a unique relationship to the concept of a name, is there anything I can call you? Can you explain that to me a little bit?” Ten froze, they didn’t know what to say, going through five expressions behind their sunglasses. Katja insisted they were Emery Jonaitis, Emery was gone. They were still attached to being Ten, but they had thrown that life away, and Xavier staunchly refused to let them go by Ten for the rest of their life. Dianna said Ten wasn't a name, or at least the way it was used for them it wasn't. It was dehumanizing. They never saw it that way. But they had been misdirected pretty consistently, hadn’t they? Janus was a name they had chosen, but, much like Ten, had to be discarded, according to Xavier.

“I...don't know, I...I have to change, again, but I don’t know who to be,” they responded, finally. From there they explained, in vague terms, why they couldn't use their old names anymore. Vague, detached, factual. But it was still a weight off. They spoke of how they weren't ready for a lot of this, but didn't elaborate on what the changes were. They wondered if they had done it right. _No, there are no rules here. There is no leash. There is no right or wrong way._ Things they struggled to remember. Because a Ten is supposed to get it right the first time. They weren't a Ten anymore, even if they were still using the name.


	3. A Promise is a Promise

Xavier was waiting, somewhat impatiently, focused on writing out some calculations he found, to distract himself from the passing time. He didn’t need to do it the long way and write it out, but appointments were long, and the numbers were soothing.

“We can go now, Xavier,” Ten spoke up to get his attention. Their voice was uncharacteristically quiet, pensive almost. He hoped that meant they’d actually spoken, and done some introspection.

He looked up from his book and nodded, it’d been a bit, and things had improved between the former paperwork department, though they were still adjusting to it, but the fact of the matter was that Ten was still whatever mangled heap they’d been left, and he was his own mess. Ten was still recalcitrant, and he was still bad at people, and neither of them knew how to talk to each other, half the time. Looking at them, he noticed that, despite their voice not sounding like them, they didn’t look at all distressed, like they had any time he tried to get them to talk to him. He wondered if that was progress, or if Ten was still holding things back. Could he force them to talk? Technically, he could try, but would that benefit either of them, in the long run? He had to accept that Ten needed time. He thought it was frustrating, but he had to accept that, for them, that was how this was going to go.

As they moved to Ten’s car -- a stupid decision, he thought, their car was easy to spot, and neither of them were really sure they were in the clear -- Xavier found himself wondering if they would ever manage to be friends. Like Ten had been with Four, where all their fighting was just playing around, or like he had been with Eight, respectful and caring, and willing to express it. Realistically, he had to admit, they would probably never be able to be friends like that, but at the very least, he wanted to be friends with them without going for the jugular all the time -- or at all, ideally.

Adjusting. That really _was_ the best way to put it, wasn’t it? They’d been set up to hate each other, and pitted against each other, while forced to work together. Maybe not intentionally, but the way things had been set up? Resentment was inevitable. Breaking decades of animosity, and fighting, in all its forms, was going to take a lot longer than a few months to do. Exactly how long it _would_ take was impossible to really say, but he knew it would take a while. He’d learned to hold his tongue, at least some of the time, and noticed they had, as well, relatively quickly, but even then, he needed to stop _thinking_ of Ten as an unbearable dumbass. And Ten needed to drop the pointless pride, and fucking listen to him more often.

Ten helped him into their car, which was really not equipped for his needs very well, and got in themself. He took a moment to collect his thoughts, and turned to them. “Ten,” he began, trying to come up with a way to ask what he needed to without being demeaning, “What did you talk about?” He really wanted to demand if they talked at all, but yelling at them wouldn’t help. They were supposed to be fighting less.

“Introductory, mostly. I told her I’m really not sure that I’m ready for a lot of this, but I have to be able. We talked about the name situation, and how I have no idea what I want to be called, or who I want to become.” Ten paused, thinking about the fact that it was really fortunate that Katja had contacts that could get them a licensed therapist, and a licensed psychiatrist, who would accept them without them having legal identities. And who could understand, at least on a base level, the kind of mess they’d come from. “I...promised you, though.”

“You did.” It was firm, he wasn’t wavering on this. He didn’t want to badger them, or force them into this, but he knew that if he didn’t hold firm, and give them a deadline, they might never do it. If he didn’t press them, they might never stop clinging to an identity that, by all appearances, had destroyed them. He wasn’t an expert, but he knew that letting go of “Ten” was necessary for them to get better. You can’t get better in the place that made you sick, and this was the same idea. They thought they couldn’t, but he knew they could. There was more to them than a designation, they had wanted things, they had had interests, formed friendships, they did things outside of their designated function, but they were so stuck in whatever bullshit they’d been fed that they thought that “Ten” was all they were allowed to be. It was frustrating.

Gino had told them they could do anything, and he’d meant it. They’d responded by shaking their head. Every time he tried after, they would respond with some variant of “not anything, not this.” Katja had told them that they weren’t this person they’d been told they had to be. Ten rejected it, because Katja would insist they could return to being Emery. Dianna told them they just had to let themself, and they would heal. They said there was nothing to heal from, that they’d chosen this. Xavier told them they had to do it, and that they were just being a stubborn idiot at this point. They just insulted him back. No matter how they were told they could, and would, move on, and grow, they had an excuse.

“It’s...going to be hard.” They would have to force themself, something they knew they were supposed to stop doing. But for _this_ , they reasoned, it would be okay. They knew they didn’t have to be perfect. It was something they had to do, yes, but they had to do it to forge their own path, not to fill a predetermined role. They didn’t have to be perfect, and there was no one to answer to, anymore. An unnatural thought, it sat funny, and they didn’t like it. They’d get used to it. The fact that they were able to _have_ that thought at all was a huge improvement over how they’d been when they’d first arrived on Dianna’s doorstep, rattled, looking a complete mess, and terrified beyond all reason. Improvement was the goal, they told themself.


	4. Well, That Didn't Work

The drive was silent, after that. The pair arrived at a bookstore and Ten helped Xavier out of the car, “I figure they'll have stuff on names here,” they offered. He was going to ask why they didn’t just go to the Library, when he remembered that was a high-stress environment for them. He was pretty sure it would be even more, because they were wearing sunglasses, and had left their eyepatch at home. Why couldn’t they just deal with it, like an adult? Oh well, at least Ten wasn't being a dumbass this time. That was a good thing.

Whether or not he thought their first choice was logical, Ten was trying to cooperate, which he was grateful for. Even if they didn't think they could do it, that they would mess it up (you can't mess up picking a name), they were trying, they were making an effort to work with him. They were listening to reason. They were accepting what had to be done, instead of fighting tooth and nail against it. This was an improvement.

It wasn't that Ten never did any of those things before, but they did them unhealthily, or reluctantly. Like a self-destructive dumbass. This time, they seemed to _want_ to make the effort, it was just hard for them. He didn’t understand why this was so damn hard for them, but he knew Ten must have been through things they didn’t tell him. Dianna said _trauma_ changes people, and he knew they had adapted for _survival_. He didn’t know why they acted the way they did, all they offered was that he’d been “too damn perfect”. Then again, he didn’t have to understand to accept it. Some of what they did _must_ have been learned, somewhere. No matter what they said, they didn’t do this all to themself.

That wasn’t worth dwelling on right now, he could try to make more headway in untangling them later. It wasn’t something he was going to give up on, because he knew there was _something_ in there, _someone_ other than the borderline puppet they had convinced themself to be. He hadn’t noticed it when they worked together, because they always seemed to have more freedom than he did. But seeing them react the way they had...maybe he’d been wrong in a lot of his assumptions about them.

He was digressing again. They were going to look through name lists and books, damn the congratulatory looks from those in the bookstore, and they were _going to make this work_. That was what to focus on. The looks were really annoying, though. So were the people invasive enough to ask. Somehow, even behind tinted glass, Ten managed to give those people a look that could bring most people to their knees, “None of your business.” None of them pressed further.

He had to shoot down the first half dozen names Ten tried to propose, because they were _still_ clinging to being Janus, to being Ten. The names were related to these, too closely for his comfort. ‘God _damn_ it, Ten’. “Look, you have to let the fuck go,” he started, a little harsher than he intended, “You can’t move past this if you don’t let yourself. That means your name, too.” Being civil was unnatural, especially because this was _Ten_ , “Don’t you have anything other that the fucking _Foundation_ to your name? Don’t answer that. I know what you’ll say, and it’s bullshit. You obviously do, or did. You named the damn lizard something unrelated. Now do it for your damn self.”

Ten wracked their brain for something, _anything_ that they still felt truly connected to. Their harp? No, they already had decided on that reference for a surname, they just hadn’t brought it up yet. There was their grandmother, maybe? They hadn’t concentrated an effort on distancing her from their memories, just their immediate family. But what did they have about her they could really grasp at? There was--

 _That was something_ , not a whole lot, but _something_.

Without warning, Ten put the book they were sifting through back, and walked over to an entirely different section. They started scanning the shelves, before apparently finding what they were looking for. Except, no, Xavier realized, they hadn’t, they kept pulling things out halfway, and then shoving them back in disgust. He was completely baffled as to why they were looking through the cultural books, and why the fuck were they getting so agitated? What the fuck was here that the couldn’t find in the name books? He didn’t want to ask, they were already mad, and he didn’t want them to yell at him. Not then. 

After a few minutes, they sighed in resignation, “Ishsikrushk.” It was directed at the authors of the books they looked through. “Just _once_ it’d be nice to not see this in the world.”

Xavier frowned, he hated when they did that, “Now what?” He didn’t know what the first thing they said meant, and not knowing bothered the hell out of him. Based on their general demeanor, and the tone they used, though, he assumed it was some sort of insult, possibly a vulgarity. What he couldn’t figure out was who they were directing it at, but he knew it wasn’t at him, “And would you stop _doing_ that? Why are we here? What could you _possibly_ need here that couldn’t be found more easily where we had been?”

But they didn’t answer his question, almost as if they hadn’t heard it, “We’re going home, and then to the Library,” they said it definitively, there was no room for argument, based on their tone. That was fine, they made clear they weren’t running away, like they always did, and that was the important part..Besides that, he could figure out what the hell they had been looking for based on what they asked the Librarians for. He really didn't want them to start yelling, so he was going to leave it alone, otherwise.


	5. Get Another Opinion on the Line

The older Dianna greeted them at the door, when they arrived. “How’d it go?”

“Fine, I need to get something, and, uh, I need to use your Way. Is Katja around, I need Gino, too.” No explanations given, but that was the norm for Ten. They rarely said what they meant, or gave clear and complete information without being prompted.

The red headed woman shook her head, “And what’s this about? You need something there?” She’d press about the therapy later. Invasive questions were something she was, unfortunately, adept at.

“Yes, I do. Is Katja here?” They sounded annoyed at having to ask a second time, growing impatient. They just wanted to get this done with.

“Yeah, yeah, she’s here. She wanted to see you when you got back, I reckon. I’ll get her.”

While Dianna was getting Katja, Ten went to their room, and dug out their eye patch, it wasn’t as ornate as their old one, but it was heavy, and blocked them from seeing hume, which was the important part. They were going to have to stop comparing everything to how it used to be, it was never going to be that way again.

A few minutes later, Dianna returned, followed by both Sparks twins. Ten felt relieved, they weren’t going to have to ask her to bring him back just for this, he was already there.

“Hey, how are you feeling, Em? Did it go well?” Katja smiled up at them, quietly hoping they’d respond in kind.

They didn’t. “I’m not Em. And it went fine. We’re going to the Library, I need Gino’s help.” No requests, no real room for questions, it was a list of facts. Old habits die hard, and that was one habit that seemed to refuse to die.

That hurt. She was being excluded from something, something Ten deemed important, but she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Ten was still wary of her, still upset with her about everything that had happened. Still, being excluded from someone who had been a huge part of her life hurt, no matter how long ago the entanglement had been. “Oh, okay.” No point in arguing. It must have been important.

“You need me?” Gino asked, both confused, and a little hopeful. This was them opening up, at least a little. He’d accepted that Ten was not Emery, anymore, after talking to Ten on the day they met, he wanted to say the day they reunited, but that wasn’t a reunion, because that wasn’t Emery. However, he still cared about Ten, and he still, on some level, considered them his closest friend, or someone he hoped would be.

Ten nodded, “Your input, mostly. I don’t want _him_ to be my only sounding board.”

Xavier scowled, “You don’t have to be an ass about it.”

Unsurprisingly, they didn’t acknowledge him, yet again. It was better that way, if they did, they would’ve started fighting, and nothing would get done. This was something that needed to get done.


	6. A New Name for a New Life

“Excuse me,” they could do this. It was their job to do this. No, not anymore. It had been once, Janus, stop relating everything to your damn job. “Could you show me to the books on Rromani culture?” 

The request made the Sparks twins both perk up. That was something from the past, something Emery had said they took pride in, but were often afraid to bring up. Both of them remembered Emery’s stories about their grandmother, who they had always spoken of fondly, and they exchanged a look. There was some hope that Emery was somewhere in there, at least for them.

Xavier, meanwhile, was slightly more confused. He wasn’t an idiot, he could conclude that Ten had a connection to the culture, but that was the confusing part. Ten consistently said they had systematically burned their past, that who they had been prior to 1936 either didn’t matter, or didn’t exist. Hell, he sometimes caught them claiming that person “never existed,” which he swatted down every single time he saw it. If they were leaving their past, then why would they choose something from that past, that they vehemently rejected, as a starting point? Ten was always a walking contradiction, though. Or, maybe this was progress.

The Librarian, who, even without the nightmare of Ten’s left eye’s vision, was not pleasant to behold, nodded and guided them a short way to what they requested. Good, not much to remember to get back out. These books were much more respectful, much more accurate. They pulled one that looked like it would have exactly what they needed: examples of names.

They motioned Gino over, to help them out, and he came with a smile. He’d wanted, so much, to be able to help them. Ever since their conversation in the Library, he’d been worried. He saw them cry, and he couldn’t do anything, he’d heard actual desperation in their voice when they thought he was going away, and he’d done all he could. He remembered how they’d claimed they “owed” the Council an explanation, how they were ready and willing to turn themself in for termination, how they were accepting of the fact that they would be erased from history, and memory, with not even an urn to their name, and it chilled him. Even if Ten wasn’t Emery, and those last things had driven that home for him, he wanted them to be okay. He cared about them. And they were letting him do that, even if just a little.

The two of them began pointing at text on the pages, and talking quietly back and forth, while Katja and Xavier waited, though Katja remained out of earshot, to be polite. It was a pretty impressively sized book, but Ten was a fast reader, they didn’t need to get through the full text, and Gino was mostly only responding when Ten pointed something out to him.

After about 3 minutes of this, Gino nodded, and patted Ten’s shoulder. With an inhale, Ten held the book out to Xavier, pointing to a name halfway down the page for his final approval. He didn’t exactly _enjoy_ making them seek approval, or feeling like he had that kind of power over them, especially because that wasn’t going to help them break from their self-destructive thought patterns. He knew, though, that if left on their own, they’d pick something stupid, something intrinsically related to either the name Janus, or the name Ten. Ten was stubborn, and bad at change when they felt like they had no choice, by their own admission.

He took the book from their hands, adjusting his glasses, and looked at where they were pointing. Reading over what the book was saying about the name, he saw some ties to their old job, but it wasn’t a part that had been dehumanizing. It wasn’t part of what had chipped away at what they were until there was nothing left. It may have been something they took genuine pride in. And, he reasoned, it was something related to part of their identity that made both the twins perk up. It was probably the best he was going to get without metaphorically pulling teeth, “That’s fine,” he said. The former Ten looked relieved, and like they were about to say something, but Xavier continued, “But, Vadoma, I need to make something _absolutely_ fucking clear, before you decide this means you have to overwrite yourself again. You are not beholden to this. There are no requirements to be Vadoma, and you are not required to keep that name indefinitely. If you change your mind, you’re allowed to.”

Ten swallowed. No more mantras, no more expectations, no more responsibilities, at least not for a while. Eventually they’d have to get some kind of job, and partake in the adult world they’d been sequestered from for 82 years. For now, though, the focus was on healing. Dianna said they had a benefactor to help pay for their expenses, but wouldn’t elaborate. They didn’t know what to do with any of this.

The only thing they could say for certain they were grateful for was _no more Founder_ , looming with his threats of imminent removal, and his harsh lectures. He was still there, able to do it to others, though, as far as they knew. They could admit to themself they didn’t like him, that they were afraid of him, even if they couldn’t swallow that he may have been to hard on them, and that they may not have earned all the ire he directed at them. Everything else, they had mixed feelings on. Or they missed, in the case of their friends. They still thought of the place as home. They wondered if they’d ever stop.

After thinking on his words for a minute, they spoke up, “Labarre.”

Xavier looked up at them quizzically. Where the hell had that come from?

They rubbed their nails nervously, they weren’t going to ask permission, not for this one, “I want the last name Labarre. And I want...I want Gino to pick my middle name.”

He wondered why they had one lined up, but didn’t think too much on it. Again, not worth fighting over. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Certainly wasn’t Foundation-related, so he didn’t care. “Okay, Vadoma Labarre. That’s fine.” He didn’t know it was Ten’s homage to their best friend, in an obscure and oblique way. Even if he did, would he have wanted to tear that away from them? Hard to say. And irrelevant.

Gino looked at them, and then at Xavier, “How about we just do a classic, and take your mom’s name, Eugenia, okay?” They nodded at that, it felt weird, but that was okay. It was a good name. Gino wasn’t sure what else to do, really. He knew his old friend would want to make a formal announcement, he decided he’d really get a feel for the name then.

Ten, no, Vadoma smiled a bit, looking at everyone. They finally got it right. They did a good job. No, they were supposed to stop thinking in those terms, those terms were bad. No, fuck, what were they supposed to think, then? Without protocol, they were drowning, lost without a compass. Xavier had been wrong when he said they had done everything for themself. They may have believed their decisions were theirs. But many of them weren’t.

They had been left with just enough personality to have insight based on their experiences. Just enough freedom not to bolt. “Your choice,” they said, “you have the control.” It was insidious, and the decades ate away more and more, both by their own choice, and by the Foundation’s will. Perhaps Vadoma’s clinging and refusal to fully move on from the loss of Sparks (both of them) was a small rebellion, in some way. Perhaps it was just in their nature.

They had told themself Katja was an enemy, they never wanted to see her again for a long time, they were angry and disgusted by her. They told themself Gino’s execution was necessary, at the time, and wasn’t cruel. That it was regrettable, but explainable, excusable. They no longer knew why they believed either of those things. They also no longer knew why they had held on to the memory of the life they’d had planned enough to get hurt by seeing others have what they never got the chance at. Why they were _allowed_ to. That was the past. Looking back wouldn’t help, they reminded themself.

They closed their eyes for a moment, to clear their head, a skill they picked up from work, one of the few useful ones. Katja perked up when the group moved past her, and she lead them back out, even though she knew they were all capable of navigating on their own. She knew they’d picked a new name, and she didn’t like that. She’d hold her tongue, though, at least in front of the person who used to be Emery.


	7. Even I Forgot is an Answer

Xavier’s first appointment was the next day, and went similarly enough to Vadoma’s. He waited to be ushered to her office, though he didn’t bother mulling over what to say, or how to say it. He’d be blunt, and as honest as he could afford. Overthinking it wouldn’t help him.

She came out, and ushered him back, holding the door for him, and he rolled through, thanking her. He still didn’t really like pleasantries, but he supposed he’d have to get used to them. He wanted to change who he was, anyway. That was one way to.

The therapist went through similar questions, why he was there, what he was experiencing, what bothered him, and so on. Answering why he was there was easy enough, he was there because he’d been through hell, and was healing from it. But the former Twelve had so few memories that his answers beyond the ones about the present were muddled, at best. So many questions were answered with “I don’t remember,” he wanted to scream about it, but he knew well enough to know screaming or snarking at the therapist wouldn’t get him anywhere. He hated where he came from, and what it had done to him. He was going to move past all of it, and this was what it would take to do that.

Then, she asked the question he was dreading. He knew it was coming, but that didn’t make him like being asked, “Why don’t you remember?”

“I was made to forget.” He didn’t have much of an answer beyond that. He didn’t want to delve into that with a stranger just yet, or at all, really. If he couldn’t even tell the only damn person he had left, the only person who could even come close to understanding, what happened? Why would he tell this complete stranger. Whether it was her job or not, thinking too much about it made him want to run. No, he was better than that. Running was what _Ten_ did, and he was better than Ten.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to work out how to dance around saying that he was amnesticized endlessly to mold him into their perfect computer. He didn’t have to dwell on how this happened any time he showed weakness, any time they thought their hold on him was starting to slip. She’d noticed his discomfort, and moved on, asking instead what he wanted to achieve. He said he just wanted to move on from it all. She asked about the relationships he did remember, delicately, and backed off at the first signs of distress. This was about building trust, and it was Xavier’s place to set the pace, after all.

A lot of the followup questions were fine, but they reminded him of how unfair it had all been. The moment he realized he had another option, he wanted to take it. It took him a bit to register that he wanted it, but once he did, he knew. It wasn’t hard for him to admit his situation was fucked up. He hadn’t deserved any of that. And he was pissed about it. He wanted to reject the whole damn thing. To bury it deep within himself. The only reason he hadn’t was because Vadoma needed him. He didn’t want to be what they had made him, anymore. Admitting that was easy. He had already separated himself from who he used to be, after all.

After all of it, he was a lot less pensive than Vadoma had been, he was just tired, and a bit angry about what he’d remembered. Not at the therapist, no, but at the Foundation. When he came out to the waiting room, he found Vadoma sitting there, patiently. _’Great,’_ he thought, noticing that they hadn’t brought anything to distract themself, ‘they just spent an hour with their fucking destructive thought patterns.’ Once the thought had passed, he realized they didn’t seem stiff, and they didn’t seem to be fixating on whatever mantras they’d had. They seemed a bit aloof, certainly, but nowhere near the level that they had been. They nodded at him, “You done, then?”

He shrugged, “Yeah, guess so.” He was both grateful and frustrated that they didn’t ask him about it. Grateful, because he didn’t want to get into it. Frustrated, because he had asked them, and why couldn’t they extend the same courtesy? Getting pissed wasn’t helpful. They thought differently than he did. He had to remind himself of that. They were _trying_ , he had to remind himself of that, too.


	8. Meet the New Me, I Guess

Both Diannas answered the door, this time. Xavier had told the older of the two that the person who had been going by Ten, or Janus, had finally picked a name they wanted to go by. He made clear that it was up to the person formerly known as Janus when they would share it, and they had said they would after Xavier’s appointment.

Dianna had already known the name had been picked, because Katja had been upset that she was still in the dark about it. Katja was waiting on the couch, with Gino. The two Diannas sat in recliners, “Well, everyone’s here.”

Vadoma realized what was going on, immediately, but they didn’t know how to start. They’d never had to do this, before. When they picked their call sign, they were asked, and before that, when they introduced themself, those people didn’t have other names for them in their head. The whole thing was awkward.

Gino smiled warmly, “I believe you had something to share with Dianna and Katja,” he offered. Dianna had told the twins this was happening, and even though he already knew that Emery was gone, something about them making a formal announcement made it so much more real. Part of him had been hoping that Vadoma Labarre was just going to be an assumed name, like Giatta Garetts was for his sister, but this made it really clear, they weren’t going to try to bring Emery back. Every time he was faced with the fact that his closest friend had been claimed by the same meat grinder that claimed him, though in a very different way, he felt a heaviness in him. He didn’t want the reminder “Emery Jonaitis does not exist,” but he did want to see _Ten_ move past this. He wanted to see them make it through this mess.

“About what you want to be called?” Katja didn’t like those words at all. She was grappling with all of this. There was resentment that she didn’t already know, and that she’s been left out of the decision entirely, but more than that, there was a sense of loss. Of course she was glad that the person standing before her was going to break free of the person they had been made to be. At the same time, though, what she really wanted was for _Emery_ to be saved. She wanted _Emery_ to make it out, and she didn’t want to accept that Emery was simply never coming back, not fully. But, this was an improvement, so she’d take it. She kept going back and forth on whether or not she believed Emery was really gone.

The younger Dianna tapped her foot, impatiently, “Any time, now, would be good.” The teen was not a patient person, and, frankly, even if they’d been harboring this person for Katja, the ex-Overseer had been frustrating pretty much from the moment they’d arrived. They’d only gotten more so when the older Dianna started asking questions. She did not envy Xavier, for being friends with them.

“Right,” they ran through a speech they’d prepared mentally, one last time, before throwing it out. That wasn’t necessary, this wasn’t that formal, “I’ve...well, I guess we, but mostly me, that...that I’m...my name is Vadoma Eugenia Labarre, and...and I promised that...that I would not go by Ten, or Janus, at all, after this.” The last bit was forced out, because in reality, they still didn’t want to let go. They still wanted to go back to how things were. They wanted to stay in the world of long hours, of protocols and structure, of rules, of secrecy, and of people they had known for the better part of a century. But they couldn’t want that, and even if they did? They couldn’t have it, not anymore.

Xavier nodded at them, a little stiffly. It was over with, it was out of the way. He didn’t like how Vadoma had to force their words out about dropping Ten, and Janus, as monikers. That was Vadoma being stubborn, and refusing to let go, _again_. But they _said_ it. He hoped they would _adhere_ to it, too.

Vadoma had started breathing slowly, to calm themself down. They hadn’t really realized it, but they’d braced themself for a tirade from either Dianna or Katja, and it never came. No one in the room was interested in telling them why they were wrong, or why their choice was bad.

Katja spoke first, masking her disappointment, “It’s a nice name.” Gino had tried to tell her, but she was stubborn, damn stubborn, and it was going to take her a lot more time to come to terms with all of this. Ten hadn’t been Emery, and Vadoma wasn’t going to _be_ Emery. It was bitter.

The older Dianna smiled, “I’m glad you found something,” she knew Xavier and Gino had helped with it, so there was no need for pointed questions. She knew neither of them would let Vadoma tie themself to the Foundation again. That their name wouldn’t dredge it up, once they managed to bury that ugly thing for good.

Gino spoke next, he’d known this was going to be their name, of course, but he still felt he should contribute, “Alright, good! Vadoma,” he found a strange comfort in the fact that it had the same number of syllables as Emery did. He was honestly excited for them. He didn’t understand what they had been through, he couldn’t understand it, he hadn’t been there. Again, he found himself wondering if he should be sorry that he hadn’t been able to be there through...whatever had caused Emery to become Ten. If he should be sorry for his own death. Whether or not he should, or could, he wanted to be there to see who this Vadoma would become.

Vadoma whispered a quick thanks before moving behind Xavier, as if hiding. Xavier rolled his eyes, that was stupid of them. There was nothing here to get them, and even if there was, he wasn’t exactly the most equipped to handle it. Oh well, no matter the name, it seemed Vadoma was going to still be an idiot.


	9. Late Night Talks

The former paper pushers were still sharing a room, at least on occasion. Whenever one of them needed it, or one of them felt like the other couldn’t be trusted alone. Even with whatever progress Vadoma was making, Xavier didn’t trust them fully, for many reasons he hoped to work past. Their phones were gone, and he knew Vadoma had already sent the letter they had wanted, so it wasn’t that that was the concern, anymore. It was that they were self destructive. He’d thought for a long time they were doing fine, because they were productive, and weren’t drowning their problems in alcohol. He had been terribly mistaken. And the past two days had been days where he didn’t trust them not to wallow in their self loathing. This night was no different.

He pushed his chair close to their bed, “Vadoma,” he started, “You’re going to talk to me, now. That’s not a request.”

Vadoma stared at him, wide eyed, they didn’t like that, at all. They didn’t like talking about their problems, and they knew that’s what this would be. Xavier rarely said things they wanted to hear. And frequently, their heart to hearts lead them to realizations they weren’t ready for. They didn’t say anything, though, they just looked at him, unblinking, knowing they wouldn’t like what was coming.

“You’re forcing yourself into this, aren’t you?” He stared them directly in the face, “You’re still looking for approval. For permission. You need to fucking stop that.”

They were silent, so he continued, “I like you as a person, as much as I can. I care about you, but you’re never going to get out from this if you keep acting like someone’s precious little puppet. _You aren’t there, you will never be there again_ , so fucking _stop_. I’ve been trying to be patient, trying to read up on the little you’ve shared, but it’s _exhausting_ , and you aren’t helping _anyone_ by continuing to live as though you’re under constant scrutiny.”

The former Ten cast their gaze at their feet, “I...I know, but…”

“There are no buts here. I don’t know what they told you, but whatever they told you was a lie. You want the right thing? The right thing, right now, is to let you be _you_. Not what the Foundation told you to be, not what Sparks wishes you were, or what Gino naively hoped for. Not what the Diannas thought you would be like. Not even what I wish you were.”

They gnawed on their lower lip, “Xavier, I...I don’t know who that is, anymore.” Their voice was hushed, almost ashamed. They’d told the Ambassador about it, but that was it. Feeling that way hurt.

He remembered telling them they were “no one,” that they had “nothing without this council,” he supposed he had been right in that. He kind of wished he hadn’t been. There was such a mess to be untangled, he’d also said he didn’t want to be responsible for destroying their life. In a way, he had been, though. He didn’t know why he did any of the things he did. Vadoma at least knew why they took the actions they did, he envied them for that. Even if Vadoma had been a dumbass, and made shitty calls, spurred on by habitual mistreatment of themself, they at least knew their reasoning. “I know you don’t.”

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“Vadoma, I can’t tell you who to be. You have to figure that out on your own. I know you don’t want to, you think you can’t, you think you won’t like what you find, but having someone else dictate who you are is not fucking healthy.”

“...I...you’re right,” they sounded ready to cry, he placed a hand on the edge of their bed, “You’re almost always right. And I’m almost always too stubborn to listen.” They rested their hand on top of his as they nestled into their bedding, “You can..sleep where you want.” They figured he’d decide whatever was comfortable for him. They’d be fine with whatever. There were reasons to want any option.


	10. We Can Make It Through This

A week later, the pair found themselves at an entirely different counseling office, and neither of them liked it very much. They were being dragged into couple’s therapy, in addition to their individual therapy. It wasn’t that the two of them disagreed with the assessment that their relationship was utterly broken, and needed serious work. It was that they would have to play at being a _couple_ , because Katja had set it up as such. Sure, Liar had always believed they were together, but they never had been, and neither of them, so far as Vadoma knew, was interested in that, least of all with each other.

Irritation with being labeled a “couple” aside, Xavier found himself a little optimistic that this could help, at least a little bit. This was someone who was trained in handling disagreements, someone who could mediate, if need be (let’s be real, there would, inevitably, be a need). As usual, the man sitting before them asked why they were here.

“We fight. A lot,” Vadoma admitted, they didn’t seem ashamed by it, but they also had really been hoping they’d be able to fix it on their own. “Usually over things of no real significance. It used to be a lot worse, but we still can’t seem to get along, at all.”

“It’s been a long time. We like each other as people, we care about each other, but--”

“But I’m intransigent, and he’s haughty.” Vadoma cut Xavier off, earning them a glare from him.

The therapist made some notes, and nodded. They said it was an improvement, he’d take them at their word. And, from there, he went down the list of questions about their history. He noticed they were vague about some answers, though he couldn’t be sure why. Questions like how long they’d known each other, and how long they’d been together were met with “A really long time,” and “Hard to say, really,” dodging giving even an estimate of time. It was the same when he asked about how long they’d been fighting, but they did both say the fights were always stupid shit. They both also said they’d each come from some form of trauma, and that they were seeking individual therapy. Their interactions were a bit bewildering, but nothing he hadn’t seen, and they weren’t the most concerning pair he’d seen, either.

“I’m going to ask you to do something for me, now I need you to look at each other, and really think about this, and then tell me, why this is worth fixing.”

Vadoma sighed, and looked down at Xavier, who was already looking them dead in the face, though his expression was soft, this time. They didn’t like it, it was too intimate, they felt vulnerable, and scrutinized, even if his face was gentle. He didn’t mind, as much, he’d never really seen them look so _sincere_ , that he could remember. He probably had, at some point, but he couldn’t call it to mind. He decided sincerity was a good look for them.

Deciding to break this awkward staring contest, and escape their growing discomfort, Vadoma spoke up, “Well, we,” they wanted to say they didn’t have anyone else, but that would lead down a whole other rabbit hole, and would sound bad, probably, “We know each other better than anybody else.” That sounded good, and it wasn’t a lie.

Xavier frowned, he’d hoped he could have more time to figure out what he wanted to say, but of course, Vadoma would be the one to talk before he was ready. They were doing a lot better, though, their ability to speak, and dodge things they shouldn’t say had improved immensely. Probably because they were actually sleeping, again. “Despite the fighting, which needs to stop, by the way,” he gave a look to Vadoma, who stared back as if to ask what the hell they’d done, “We’ve always kept each other stable, in a lot of ways.”

“We’re each other’s constant,” _as regrettable as that is._

“There’s a lot we’ve been through together. Things that, well, no one else we know can really understand.” _We lost everyone else who could, and that’s never getting undone._

“I...because I need to be honest,” they started, before falling silent.

The therapist nodded understandingly, “If you're okay answering, what is it you'd like to be honest about?”

“Well,” they swallowed hard, “Xavier, when we met, I was petty. I was upset, I was jealous, and I was stupid. We became close, in a sense, but things never really got better, in that department. Neither of us ever knew how to talk to the other. You admitted you never knew how to show that you cared. Well, I guess, I was afraid to care. Afraid to let myself care, especially about someone I’d started off on the wrong foot with.

“I didn’t _want_ to admit to myself that the same person who I was told to be better than was my rock. And it just made me lash out, more. I buried it under claims of caring about you for the sake of others. We had each other, and there were so many times where that was all we had. It was frustrating, but, if I’m honest, you’re one of the only people I’d want at my side at the end of the world.

“There are things I want to say, but I can’t say them in English. I’ve never been good at expressing these things in English, this is hard for me, right now, and I’m probably misspeaking a lot, but...if I’m honest with you, and myself, I’ve always admired you. Respected you more than anyone else. I’d be lost without you. When I thought you were gone, I was terrified, and that reaction, initially, confused me. I don’t want to lose you. And I don’t want to hurt you, anymore. I just...I’m lost, Xavier. I don’t know where to go.”

Xavier didn’t say anything. Anything he could say would, in his mind, detract from the moment. That was the most he’d ever heard them say on a matter like this, but he believed them.

The therapist nodded again. He certainly didn’t have context for a lot of that, but the purpose was to help them open up to each other, and, over time, help them communicate better. Looking at the two of them, well, there was definitely hope there.


End file.
